


After

by Raven2547



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, Not Beta Read, Post Smoke and Iron, Spoilers, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 13:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven2547/pseuds/Raven2547
Summary: Jess takes a moment.Post Smoke and Iron





	After

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS AHEAD
> 
>  
> 
> my problem is that I love my main characters way too much. I appreciate the others in this series and I love them all, but Jess is like my little cinnamon roll. he's a high strung person in my mind when i read his voice and he's also really self-contained but loves his friends to the point of being family. Even though they clearly love him back in the books, I feel like he's often on the outside of the comforting circle and really is trapped in the role of provider. That being said, before Smoke and Iron I would've made Santi provide the comfort as that father figure that Jess craves (even though he specifically places Wolfe in that slot), but after S.I. I don't think Santi would be willing to provide it...
> 
> anyway, leave me a comment or a kudos and lets make this little fandom a little more populated!

It's not as if he and Brendan were ever very close, Jess thought to himself as he carefully walked down the stone halls of the Serapeum. After the Feast of Greater Burning and the fleeing or annihilation of the Curia their group took refuge in their old Ptolemy House apartments. Jess, while remaining in the foreground for once in his back-alley career, rarely took five steps without being tailed by one of his friends. It seemed everyone saw something in him that made them wary, or else they didn't trust him after the switcheroo he pulled with Brendan. A fair point, he conceded, and eyed one of the automata swishing its tail in the corner. He ducked into an alcove and pulled the wall sconce down, stepping inside the dark space inside. The offices and hidden rooms on the west side were remarkably desolate at four in the morning. 

It was relatively easy to lose his faithful stalkers in the morning hours. For some reason, they all expected him to be calm and mourn normally--which apparently meant he would stay in his apartment with Dario at night and wake in the morning to help deal with the fallout from the feast. They appeared to forget that he rarely slept, if at all, and what sleep he did get was more dozing than anything else lest he be wracked with nightmares or dizzying thoughts spiraling down and down in a cascading torrent of anxiety and misery.

It was too quiet.

The thought repeated itself in Jess's mind but the lingering thought, the one that didn't so much repeat as it remained in the background, a foundation on which all further thoughts were set, remained. Brendan, while not close in any way, was his brother--and dead. For the first time in seventeen years Jess considered himself truly alone in the world. Except for the three minutes at the beginning of his life, Jess never knew true loneliness. Although Brendan was aloof and cruel at the worst of times, they shared that innate connection of twins. When Jess remained in Alexandria prior to the Artifex's jaunt to Rome, he took comfort just in Brendan's presence. While they never shared deeper thoughts or collected affection from each other they remained constants in the world to themselves--a constant that now was tainted and mutilated. 

Jess pressed the wall back into place gently, the scrape of stone on stone a minor inconvenience. It was terribly dark in this tiny office. He shook a chemical glow and it lit the room in a dim light, warped patterns shining on the ceiling to resemble a fishbowl. Bookshelves lined the walls, all labeled in small metal plates screwed to the wooden shelves. Real books, all of them, but not precious ones. They smelled old and musty, as if no person had bothered to move them in years. That very well might be true, he thought to himself, because this room was set aside for paper copies that existed in the codex. All the tomes in here were neither original nor undocumented, they just were. It was a library that saw so little traffic the lone reading couch had a thin layer of dust covering the velvet.

Uncaring, Jess sat and pulled a book at random from the shelf nearest to him. The spine crackled when he opened it and the first few pages stuck together. He roved unseeing eyes over the words, not absorbing anything but reveling in the familiar motions of reading. The boy crossed his legs and settled in to read the biography of some philosopher. His fingers turned the pages mechanically as the clock on the wall ticked by, but his thoughts roamed again.

Zara Cole's face featured prominently in many thoughts. Jess had a vision of her traitorous gait hustling the Archivist down the passageway in the Coliseum. He should have followed her, left his brother's empty and wrong corpse behind to get some vengeance and complete his friends' quest to destroy the corrupted leadership he represented. But he didn't, and now she personally escorted the former most powerful man in the world. Jess's back ached with phantom pain from a dagger lodged in his side. 

She would reap her rewards, he tried to comfort himself. Callum, not Da ever again, received her likeness from Jess's untraced codex a few days before with a missive about Brendan's murderer. Zara Cole would not walk free in the world of the Brightwells for long. His friends used his family connections and rarely thought to think exactly what he could do if he thought a bit more like his brother, a bit more ruthlessly. 

Jess was positive the others did not know about his communication with his father. On an intellectual level, after distancing himself emotionally from the situation, Jess knew that his father could not be trusted; but his desire for the former High Guarda to come to their form of justice far outweighed his (albeit weak) desire to punish his father. 

He pinched his fingers between the pages of the book, the slight pain focusing him back on the inked words. The others' faces flashed in his mind and he brought his knee to his chest in thought. Wolfe and Santi, as always, presented a united front and, although Jess had seen the most of them together and their connection out of their group, he thought to himself that the close relationship he desired with the two men could not be achieved after his betrayal. Likewise, his friends would probably never see him the same again--especially Thomas. His best friend was a gentle giant but the metaphorical knife Jess had lodged in their friendship would surely cause the wounds of resentment to fester. Glain remained steadfast and stern, unyielding. She knew of his betrayal before the others even suspected and professed to understand his 'self-sacrificing' behavior, but Jess knew that she was a naturally suspicious person. Even if he hadn't abused their trust she would spend the rest of their lives practicing constant vigilance. 

Beautiful Khalila would forgive him eventually if she hadn't already. She was... not naive, but kind beyond reason. Truly, the best of them all. Dario did not deserve her. 

Dario, of course, was determined to be the most annoying out of all his friends. Although their relationship hinged largely on antagonistic behaviors, the older teen seemed barely a step behind Jess most days. The Spaniard wouldn't be affected by Jess's betrayal because he helped orchestrate it, but his dogged pursuit of Jess down the hallways and across the courtyards most days made the Londoner tiredly curious. Distantly, as he turned another page of the dusty book, Jess wondered if Khalila had put it up to him, to follow Jess across the city and make sure... make sure what, exactly? That he didn't visit his criminal contacts? As if. That he might run away? Khalila wouldn't expect that of him, but Dario or Glain could have proposed it. 

Jess shut the book with a dull thud, the halves coming together in a small cloud of dust. He leaned back and placed it back on the shelf then shook the glow a few times to make it brighten up. He leaned his head back on the wooden back of the couch to stare at the ceiling. His thoughts continued to circle uselessly over the same topics: his brother, his duty, his friends. Morgan. 

He shut his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose. She was a source of continued chaos in his life. The girl he considered himself to be in love with, the girl who harbored resentment and hatred on at least some level for him, were one and the same. He looked at her and recalled sonnets and gardens, then looked away and remembered pain and heartbreak. He snorted to himself and bunched his pants in his fists. At least, he thought to himself, she seemed equally confused about him. Right now he didn't want to be confused, though. He wanted somebody to tell him everything would be alright (even though it wouldn't be) and to sit with him and hold his hand. Morgan was with the other obscurists right now. They lived in the iron tower of their own will but many desired to leave. She had an important duty to help them, and Jess encouraged that, had sent her there originally against both their wishes. She stayed in the tower and rarely ventured out, at least to see him. It was odd that she was right next to him as Brendan died in his arms but disappeared soon after, but Jess tried not to look on it with jaded eyes. She comforted him at the height of pain and then attended her duties, which was more than he deserved to ask of her. The fabric on either side of his face dampened with salty tears. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and willed the flow to stop.

The world outside was chaos. His friends were revolutionaries or terrorists, depending on your point of view. They were restructuring the library from the inside out and planning to undo centuries of censorship. Kingdoms were sailing on Alexandria every day. The High Guarda, while not in open rebellion, could not be trusted to stay neutral. His friends all had people to lean on. Khalila and Dario had successfully paired off, Morgan remained loyal to the obscurists in the tower (especially an older woman with a perpetual smile), and Santi and Wolfe were devoutly involved. Glain had no need of anyone and showed no signs of slowing down. Thomas successfully bonded with every single person he came into contact with, plus he was still suffering from the cruel hands of the Artifex in Rome, captivity in Philadelphia, and his best friend's betrayal. Jess felt intimately the regular pangs of loneliness that Brendan's death began. 

Jess heard Dario's voice in his head whispering to think of life as a chessboard, then his brother's voice telling him he'd always been better at the game than his twin. He didn't want to think ahead and he didn't want to plan out his moves. He wanted to be alright and finish today; he wanted to sleep and not wake up until he was fully rested and everything was alright again. He wanted to go home, to London, and sit in his father's library while Brendan played with his knives in the rafters. 

Jess's breath hitched once, his shoulders rubbing against the fabric of the couch. He pressed his hands more firmly to his face and wrapped his fingers in the front fringes of his hair, pulling the dark locks in with a harsh grip. The rustle of his own hair and the pain against his scalp slowed the deluge threatening to escape and the Briton gratefully took in a shaky gasp of air. There just wasn't any time for this. It wasn't a macho play against emotions--Brendan always said Jess got all the 'feelings' for both of them when God was handing out personalities--but there was a certain tension lingering behind his eyes. He thought to himself that maybe Brendan wouldn't really be gone, his friends wouldn't hate him, his family wouldn't want to disown him until he cried, or something equally as dumb. Perhaps it was a dim hope that when he finally cried he wouldn't have to be alone, so he was holding out for somebody to arrive. Stupid. 

He ran his cramping hands through his hair and fisted them in the short hairs on the back of his skull, dragging his head forward so he could put his elbows on his knees. All those hopes and delusions were rapidly losing steam. Nobody was here and nobody would come--but whose fault was that really? He knew Thomas and Khalila would dutifully sit beside him and Morgan would awkwardly hold his hand, maybe. It was childish and backwards, but he didn't want duty to guide their actions. If someone were to come and offer comfort, Jess thought, he would want them to want to help him. And not need his cooperation or have some sort of long-term plan for his cooperation. To just have somebody want to help Jess and not need anything in return or feel obligated to stand guard over his episode. 

Aching moments stretched on as his breath hitched again and again, heaving slightly over his parted knees. The chemical glow held steady and washed the room in a constant ambiance. 

Eventually, when the glow was growing dimmer and the pennant alcoves near the roof were letting in the first rays of sunlight, Jess got up and wiped his face. The bags under his eyes accentuated the redness from hours of crying. He brushed some imaginary lint from the couch cushions and gave his hair a few tugs with his hand to straighten it, then stepped over to the stone recess where the door pressed. 

The walk back to Ptolemy House was quiet in the way mornings are; everyone too tired to make noise and not enough people awake to make the sounds of civilization. The last dregs of night workers were limping their way home, but Jess blended in with them easily with a lifetime of experience. Inside the house, Glain was the first person awake. She was downing strong Alexandrian coffee and giving him an unimpressed stare. He nodded at her in recognition and made his way up the stairs slowly, his hand dragging along the banister.

The rest of the house wasn't awake yet, it seemed. Jess walked quietly down the hall and stepped aside when Santi and Wolfe's door opened suddenly, admitting the tall High Guarda Captain. He stopped in the doorway and Jess nodded once again, continuing down to the last room on the left--Dario and his' room. The teen could feel Santi's gaze on him even as he quickly opened the door and shut it with a soft click.

Dario wasn't in the room, surprisingly. He was there when Jess left that morning, but the blankets were made up as if he'd left routinely. Perhaps with Khalila or on an errand. He shrugged and locked the door, bolting it with absolute surety he wasn't really safe here. Nowhere was safe, not since London and his father's library and his brother hiding in the shadows. He folded his jacket and the clothes from yesterday, climbing in to bed with just his undershirt and drawers on. It would be a few hours until somebody came to call on him, hopefully. 

Half an hour later, the gentle but heavy hand that was unmistakably Thomas rapped on the heavy oak door. Jess rolled out of bed and unlocked it, giving a tight smile to his best friend.

**Author's Note:**

> a little rambley but eh. if this gets a bit of reception i might return and have somebody provide comfort. i like the canon relationships but Dario/Jess is also acceptable lol, and i could see Thomas/Jess being workable. drop me a comment and let me know what you think.


End file.
